


stand with you

by BoisterousBattlecat



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Angst, Follows Canon, but gayer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:06:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23587354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoisterousBattlecat/pseuds/BoisterousBattlecat
Summary: Moments in Aerith and Tifa’s relationship about their fighting styles.
Relationships: Aerith Gainsborough/Tifa Lockhart
Comments: 4
Kudos: 117





	stand with you

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the amazing [sanctum_c](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanctum_c) for betaing!

Aerith’s _plan_ was to analyze how Cloud fought and compare it to Zack. Hey, he was interesting.

Instead, she’s watching Tifa Lockhart, eco-terrorist extraordinaire, beat up monsters.

Because frankly?

Tifa’s fucking sexy.

The force of her punches throwing monsters back, the flex of her muscles as she moves, the spin of her kicks, the sheer brute force of her strikes—her body’s like a temple, built brick by painstaking brick.

She’s only known Tifa for a few days, but Aerith swears to keep that temple in shape. And she’s only mostly saying that so she can keep eating that eye candy.

Tifa only realizes how used she was to her aches after she meets Aerith.

She draws out the materia’s power as easily as breathing, and when the magic washes over Tifa, she feels refreshed in a way that cheap potions could never match. She’s new at it, but Aerith’s still a natural at healing, outshining even those with practice in magic.

It fits her. Tifa finds solace in her smile, her banter, even just the swish of her ponytail when she walks. There’s just something so bright and beautiful about her.

As selfish as it is, she also finds solace in Aerith fighting (staying) by her side. She burns through mana like a wildfire, recklessly, carelessly, freely, throwing fires and ices and thunders with abandon. It’s almost mesmerizing.

She hopes that Aerith will keep travelling with them after they reach Kalm and Elmyra, despite how she knows that the answer will be yes.

It should make her happy, not anxious that she’ll lose another comrade.

Aerith finally gets around to telling Tifa that she wants to bone her and also that she’s really into watching her punch stuff while the two of them are watching the ranch’s chocobos in evening hours, the others already resting indoors, too tired to disturb them.

Tifa, as it turns out, is not a sputterer like Aerith bet to herself, though she _is_ a blusher. Tifa falls silent, leans back on her perch on the fence, and pensively looks at the seemingly endless horizon. “I’m not sure... if this is the time for this.”

“Who cares?” Aerith flippantly cuts her off before things get too depressing, “Shinra’s always going to do what they do.” A flash of a child’s white hair. “I’m not going to let _them_ get me down.”

Tifa smiles slightly, her hair fluttering like a banner in the wind. “I suppose that’s probably true.” Her eyes meet Aerith’s, a beautiful red deep enough to drown in.

“Of course it is,” Aerith starts to say before Tifa abruptly pulls her in and kisses her.

They don’t really get much sleep that night. Aerith’s perfectly fine with that.

In the breaks of their journey, when everyone rests around a single flickering campfire, Aerith insists on being taught how to fight with her staff and Tifa obliges her. Though it always leaves them tired and sore afterwards, it’s well worth it.

Aerith is already fairly good, personal experience sharpening skills honed in Midgar’s monster-infested slums. But no one’s ever tutored her, and so there’s a hint of sloppiness and uncorrected habits running through her entire style.

Tifa’s not sure if she’s a good teacher, running off half-remembered lessons and self-made tricks, but she’s the only one Aerith has, and so she resolves to do a good job.

And for her part, Aerith...

Well, she’s a bit too busy gazing at Tifa’s muscles like she wants to devour them to _quite_ listen well. But despite all her teasing comments, she always does the exercises Tifa asks of her without a moment’s hesitation.

Aerith _trusts_ her, and the realization makes her heart flutter.

“Are you sure you don’t want it?” Tifa asks, head tilted as she considers an iridescent staff. Her breath warms the back of Aerith’s left ear and her cheek.

On one hand, it _is_ very pretty. On the other hand, they’ve already spent thousands on new weapons and armor for everyone else, and the Wizard Staff is still plenty serviceable. “I’ll be fine,” Aerith says, “I want to grow my materia some more.” She finds few things more amusing than the prospect of utterly destroying her enemies with Firagas. _Boom baby_.

Tifa starts to contest the point before stopping. “That might be wise.”

Who knows when they’ll have to confront the one they’re pursuing, after all?

“Fine, fine,” Aerith says, slipping herself out of Tifa’s protective embrace and rolling her eyes, “I’ll take one of these armlets, get those nice linked slots, abuse those lovely Alls.” She turns to look at Tifa, dust-covered from their long journey. “And then we’re having a girl’s night out!”

Aerith sticks her tongue in Tifa’s mouth before she can protest.

“A suplex,” Aerith says, staff held behind her back, “I’m officially jealous! Wait, can you suplex a train with it? Like… that guy from Super Power Slayers. I hope you can.”

Tifa flicks pieces of gore off her gloves before stretching, the Velcher Task thoroughly vanquished by the newest addition to her limit break. She exhales out into the cool autumn air of the area around Rocket Town, so much like that of Nibelheim’s. Too much, maybe. “I’m not really sure, sorry.”

And she’s not really interested in learning. That sounds like it’d be horrible for her back.

“Mm,” Aerith tilts her head and smiles as she leans towards Tifa. “It’s still pretty cool.”

“Ah,” Tifa’s lips quirk up into a smile and her cheeks warm. “Thank you.” She scratches the back of her neck. “It’s rather unreliable, though.” She’s always semi-anxiously wondered what truths her limit break revealed about herself.

Aerith’s smile only widens. “That doesn’t change how cool it is. You’re not Cait Sith, after all!”

It’s a mean thing to laugh at, but Tifa barks out anyways. “Thanks.”

Aerith all but weeps when Yuffie steals her diligently cultivated collection of materia. “ _Months_ of fighting,” she groans, “and I’ve only gotten them halfway to third level!”

Tifa pats her on the back and pulls her into squishy hugs and reassures her that they’ll catch that Planet-damned thief, but it’s really no substitute for the sheer thrill of nuking enemies with Firas.

After that, everyone laboriously treks their way through the still war-scarred lands of Wutai, and laboriously beat enemies to death with nothing but their weapons. And while Aerith doesn’t exactly mind getting her hands dirty, it’s really not something a cute lady like her ought to be doing.

Yeah, exploding small hills with Thundaras is _infinitely_ cuter.

But for all that Tifa offers to be her knight and prevent her from having to whack even a single monster with her still somewhat subpar muscles (she should have really brought that staff back in Cosmo Canyon), Aerith ultimately doesn’t want to sit on her hands and do nothing.

She thinks Tifa understands that feeling intimately.

“This is not what I was expecting when you said date night,” Tifa good-naturedly says, head swimming slightly from poison.

Aerith grins despite her wounds, casually patting blood off her dress. “Given my fetishes, this is _absolutely_ what you should have expected when I said date night.”

The two of them stand in Battle Square, another round of monsters vanquished at their feet. “Should we keep going?” Tifa asks. Their weapons and accessories were already broken, their mana halved, and their summon materia inert. It’s not the worst odds Tifa has faced, but if they got another major handicap on the slot reel...

“Well,” Aerith starts to say before reconsidering. “I think that’s your decision, boss!” She smiles, confidently pumping a hand into the air.

“I’m not really your boss,” Tifa mumbles, pushing a loose lock of hair back. She looks at the simple arena. It’s just a game, she reminds herself. She can afford to relax now. With that in mind, she inhales a deep breath and balls her fists. “Let’s take the gold.”

She almost sounded like a hero from a play there. It’s a nice feeling.

Five thousand gil; for transport, supplies, and emergencies. Half the party’s ethers, since she can’t risk running out of mana. All their attack items, to inflict physical damage. Two elixirs, just in case.

Aerith mentally winces slightly as she takes the items. That’ll be expensive to replace.

She slings her pack over her shoulder and sets out, resisting the urge to—to what, say some meaningless words? It’d be easy for her to slip away in the chaos after the black materia was lost, less so if she reminded them that she exists.

...really, she’s gotten so sentimental. And after she swore to never let herself get dragged down by feelings of the heart like so many others in the slums. “I’ll be back,” she whispers with more calm then she truly feels, now that she finally knows what she has to do. “Trust in me, alright? I’ll treat you to all the dinner dates ever.”

She makes the rest of her apologies, not once giving in—or perhaps daring—to look back, and then finally starts walking.

If there’s anything she’s learned in the last few months, it’s to go for the knockout punch.

Tifa kicks away a Vlakorados and expects Aerith to follow up with a devastating spell. Tifa miscalculates an assault and feels lightning sear her arm and she calls out for Aerith to heal her. Tifa obliterates a field of enemies with Ifrit and she turns, half already hearing Aerith quipping about how cold it is and begging for Tifa’s warmth.

She feels like she’s fine until these moments happen, and then she’s reminded of just how Aerith left her. She doesn’t want to think about just how much of her drive to find Aerith is concern and how much is the need to ask why she’d betrayed her.

The others don’t mention Aerith around her, like that’ll erase the little moments that she should have been there or the phantom touches that tingle on her skin. They miss her too, but not as much as she does.

Tifa can’t stand this in-between, so she redoubles her pace, powers through all the monsters quicker, swears she’ll find—save—Aerith, and then, and then...

Everything will get back to normal, right?


End file.
